


like a heartbeat, drives you mad

by ChronicTonsillitis



Series: Prompt Fills [8]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellamy "Two Brain Cells" Blake, But also, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Loss of Virginity, Misunderstandings, One Shot, Smut, big dick bellamy blake, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:54:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29793597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChronicTonsillitis/pseuds/ChronicTonsillitis
Summary: Through no fault of his own, Bellamy has managed to make it all the way to college with his virginity still firmly intact. Which is something he probably should've told his best friend Clarke, but— well, she's a bit of player, so he was a little embarrassed. He’s still a little embarrassed.Especially because he's in love with her.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Prompt Fills [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141463
Comments: 27
Kudos: 273
Collections: The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative





	like a heartbeat, drives you mad

**Author's Note:**

> written for an anonymous prompter who asked for fuckboy!clarke and virgin!bellamy. hope this suits.

It’s a pretty typical Friday night.

The hall is quiet, most people either in bed or still out. Bellamy sits alone in the common room, the textbook lying open in his lap clashing horrible with the red solo cups sprawled over the breakfast bar, the half drunk beers that sit abandoned on the coffee table.

Bellamy pushes some of them aside with his feet, sinking back into the couch as he kicks his legs up. His eyes glaze over as he reads over the same paragraph about Medea for the fifth time, absorbing no more than he had the last time. His fingers tap impatiently against the seam of his jeans, and he forces himself not to look at the bedroom door across the room.

He is _not_ waiting.

He’s just—studying. In the common room. It’s perfectly reasonable. 

Bellamy checks his watch, frowning. He’s not waiting, though. Because that would be—in no uncertain terms— pathetic, and he’s sure Clarke would agree. His eyes skim over the paragraph again. He turns the page.

He’s on his third reread of Stellbeck’s blistering condemnation of Jason when the door finally clicks open.

He doesn’t look up, listening to the murmured goodbyes, to the smack of lips. Instead, Bellamy pushes his glasses up his nose primly, feigning interest in the words in front of him. The sound of footsteps recede down the hall, and the dorm door clanks shut. 

Bellamy sets his book aside and looks at Clarke, raising one eyebrow. “Well—” he drawls. Her clothes are disheveled, golden hair wild and mussed. “What was this one’s name?”

She cocks her head, tapping her swollen lips pensively. “Hmmm.” Her nose scrunches as she thinks. “You know, I’m not sure I asked.”

Bellamy huffs out a snort, rolling his eyes fondly.

Clarke smirks back, bouncing across the room and throwing herself bodily onto the couch beside him. She curls up her knees, pushing his arm aside so she can rest her head in his lap. Her skin is hot and she smells like sex, but Bellamy just sinks his hands into her hair. He begins to card his fingers through her curls, gently detangling the knots.

Clarke makes a happy noise, her blue eyes fluttering shut. Her lips part, pink and plush and— Bellamy’s fingers stutter as he shifts his hips, sliding her head surreptitiously away from his crotch.

_Jesus fucking Christ._

“So,” he asks, his throat impossibly dry. “A good night?”

Clarke leans into his touch, shrugging. “It was alright. Pretty average.”

Bellamy hums. 

She is, unfortunately, correct.

It’s a little too average, frankly. It happens every weekend like clockwork. They go to dinner at 6ish, then split up. Bellamy goes to the gym, Clarke goes back to the dorm. He showers, she gets ready. The hall pregames whatever party is happening that night, Bellamy sticks to two beers. They leave around 11, and Bellamy stays in. Clarke comes home before everyone else, never alone, and he waits patiently for her to finish. Rinse and repeat.

“You should’ve come out with us,” Clarke says softly. She reaches up to flick his nose and he snatches her hand before it gets there, pulling it down over her belly. “You never come anymore.”

Their fingers lace together, her hand small and warm in his. Bellamy feels his heart clench, looking down at her. “I’m too busy, princess.”

It’s a lie and they both know it. 

He has no more work than the rest of them, and besides, it’s not like he actually gets anything done while she’s out. Clarke frowns, her eyebrows pulling together. Her eyes search his face and she blinks, some sort of understanding coloring her features.

“Oh.” She’s quiet, her hand tightening around his for a second before releasing. “Still?”

Bellamy shrugs.

She’s wrong, of course, but he’s not going to tell her.

For months now, Clarke has been laboring under the false impression that he’s still in love with his ex. Bellamy doesn’t try and argue otherwise, because it distracts nicely from the truth: that Bellamy is in love with Clarke.

He did use to go out with them, back in the beginning of the year. When he was new at college, and still with Gina. But then— Clarke.

Clarke hit him over the head like a lead brick. He had known her a little bit in high school, only enough to vaguely dislike her, but when they got to college and were on the same hall— he couldn’t help it. She was— something else, like a storm and a homecoming all at once. Her presence was overwhelming, so tenacious and clever and _good_. So not what he expected. They became rivals, and then friends, and then—

He came to college so very much in love with his girlfriend, but he dumped Gina with very little angst at Thanksgiving because by then it was already a foregone conclusion. He was in love with Clarke. She was his best friend, and he was in love with her. 

He _is_ in love with her.

He knew, at the time, that it wasn’t going to happen. He had no expectations, or at least, he told himself he didn’t have any. But when they went out, and Clarke kept fucking around, kept hooking up with anyone and everyone she felt like— he didn’t like seeing it. He hadn’t liked seeing it before, but after he was single he thought maybe, maybe now that he was available, maybe she would stop. Maybe instead of going after strangers, she’d look at him and realize—

Needless to say, it didn’t happen.

Which is fine. Clarke doesn’t owe him anything. She doesn’t even know he has feelings for her, at least, Bellamy hopes she doesn’t. He just— he just doesn’t want to see it. Doesn’t want to watch her pick someone else, twice a week, every week.

So instead, he waits.

Bellamy snorts. Maybe he is pathetic after all.

“What’s so funny?”

He glances down at Clarke, who looks up at him with curious eyes. “Nothing.”

She raises an eyebrow, twisting her arm back to pinch his thigh. Bellamy yelps. “Tell me.”

He fumbles for an answer. “Just— you seriously didn’t ask their name?”

Clarke makes a face. “In my defense, he already knew mine. It felt weird to ask.”

“Jesus, princess.” Bellamy chuckles, jostling her against his thighs. “You know the dude’s probably in love with you by now, right?”

Anybody with half a brain would be.

“I don’t know,” Clarke says doubtfully, waving a hand vaguely. “The sex was— well, you know.”

Oh, that’s the other thing.

Bellamy wouldn’t know.

Through no fault of his own, Bellamy has managed to make it all the way to college with his virginity still firmly intact. He had a slutty phase in high school, of course, but at that point the thing to do was just third base: blow jobs under the bleachers, fingering under a blanket in the bed of his truck, handies in the back of movie theatre. Which he did prolifically, but it never went any farther.

And then he started dating Gina, and his slut phase dried up.

Gina was a good girl. Not too good, but her family was religious, and she was too nervous about getting knocked up to fully break the rules. And Bellamy loved her, so he went along with it. Frankly, he didn’t feel like he was missing out on much at the time. 

But then he got to college, and there was Clarke, and everyone else was fucking too, and— well, he was a little embarrassed.

He’s still a little embarrassed.

Which is why he hasn’t exactly told her.

“Right,” he says, scratching his head. “Totally.”

She opens her mouth to say something else but is interrupted by Murphy, stumbling into the common room and flopping down on the couch across from them. “Sup nerds,” he slurs. “What are you two whispering about?”

Clarke turns her head to look at him but doesn’t bother sitting up. “Tonight’s conquest.”

“Ahhh.” Murphy leans back, spreading his arms out over the back of the couch. “I saw you leave with him. Nice technique, by the way.”

Clarke shrugs, smirking. “What can I say? I’m a professional.”

Murphy laughs loud enough to make Bellamy’s jaw clench. “That you are, Griff. Quite the reversal of the season, the two of you.”

She tilts up at that, pulling her head out of Bellamy’s lap. His heart drops but she stays close, pressed up against his side. Murphy’s eyes glint as Bellamy wraps his arm around her, and Bellamy shoots the other boy a glare, daring him to keep talking.

It’s a mistake.

“What do you mean?” Clarke asks.

“You know.” Murphy gestures to the two of them. The glint is back, his lip curling deviously. “The fuckboy and the virgin.”

A pit opens up in Bellamy’s stomach, his whole body stiffening. Oh, no.

Oh— _fucking_ —no.

That’s it. He’s going to do it. He’s going to kill Murphy.

Clarke frowns in confusion. “Bellamy’s not a fuckboy.”

Murphy gives them both a feral smirk. “And you’re certainly not a virgin.”

Clarke chews on her cheek. “Yeah, but that would make me the fuckboy in this situation which—” She glances between the two boys, taking in Bellamy’s glare, his tight lips, and Murphy’s expression of pure satisfaction. “Oh. _Oh_.”

Bellamy shifts away from her, his arm falling off her shoulders. His short nails bite into his palm as he clenches his fist.

“He’s joking, right?” She sounds unsure, looking back and forth between Bellamy and Murphy. “You’re not—”

The thing is, Bellamy doesn’t want to lie to her. He knows—knew—Clarke was going to find out at some point. He was just hoping it would happen after he’d done the deed, so it would be a funny anecdote and not— _oh, for the love of fucking God._

“Practically Kevin Jonas?” Murphy grins sloppily and Bellamy contemplates the consequences of leaping over the table to punch him in the face. “Oh, but he is.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Clarke asks, her voice hurt. Bellamy stays stock-still, eyes locked on the boy across from him.

“Yeah, Bell,” Murphy mocks. “Why didn’t you tell her?”

Clarke grabs something off the coffee table and whips it across the room, hitting Murphy between the eyebrows. An empty can. He swears, rubbing the spot with his fingers. 

“Go away.” 

He starts to argue but she throws another, this one hitting him in the ear as he tries to dodge. Murphy leaps to his feet, sputtering indignantly. “That one wasn’t empty!”

“Goodnight, Murphy.”

Bellamy watches with hard eyes as the other boy slinks away, muttering to himself. Leaving him and Clarke alone.

_Fuck._

“Bell—”

He puts his textbook on the coffee table and stands. “I should go to bed.”

Clarke grabs his wrist and pulls him back down to the couch. She’s not particularly strong, and Bellamy is much bigger than her, so it would be easy to break her grip, but he lets himself be pulled. His eyes close tight, head knocking back against the wall behind the couch.

“Don’t give me that look,” he says petulantly.

Clarke shifts closer to him, her leg pressing against his. “What look?”

Bellamy groans. He points to her face without opening his eyes. “That one.”

She whacks his hand away, scoffing. “You can’t even see it.”

“I don’t need to.” His thigh twitches as she rests a hand on it. “I can feel it.” He peeks a look at her with one eye and closes it again, eyebrows pulling together. “Yep, definitely that one.”

“I just—” Clarke shuffles towards him a little more, knees falling over his lap. Bellamy wraps a hand around them automatically. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

His mouth pinches together and he opens his eyes, looking at her incredulously. “Because it’s humiliating?”

Clarke’s eyes narrow, and she flicks his jaw. “It is not.”

“It is,” he complains, pointing at her face. “That look right there? That’s pity.”

Clarke flushes. “It is not,” she huffs again, fumbling for the right words. “It’s just— I mean I thought— well, it’s surprising!”

Bellamy rolls his eyes, slumping down against the couch. “Thanks, princess.”

“It’s not weird, or anything, I just—” Clarke’s cheeks are an interesting shade of pink. Bellamy watches her throat move. “You seem like you’d have— done it.”

He quirks an eyebrow at her. “What does that mean?”

“Well, just—” She gestures vaguely at Bellamy. “You could. If you wanted to. And you had a girlfriend, so I figured you must have, um—experience.”

“I do,” he adds quickly. “With everything else. Just not— _sex_ sex.”

“But I thought— what about Miller?” Bellamy gave her a look and Clarke immediately blushed again. “Sorry.”

This is the most painful conversation he’s ever had, he thinks. “Oral.”

“Well, virginity is a very heteronormative concept. There’s no reason—”

Bellamy groans. “Don’t do that.”

Clarke bites her lip prettily and his hand tightens on her leg. “Do what?”

“Try and make me feel better.” 

Clarke’s fingers find his hair, stroking through the curls, and he leans into the touch. “Is there a reason—?”

“No,” he says quickly. “I want to, it’s just timing. Gina was religious, and there just— haven’t been any opportunities since. Nobody I’m interested in.”

It’s a blatant lie, given that the one person he’s interested in more than anything is currently curled up in his arms, but what’s he supposed to say? ‘ _Clarke, I’m saving my virginity for you’_? Yeah, right.

“Oh.”

Clarke sounds funny, and he looks down at her face to catch her expression. “What?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing.”

_Bullshit._

She’s mad, he thinks. Now that the shock has worn off, she’s bound to be angry he kept this from her. “Hey,” Bellamy says gently, his fingers finding her chin. He tilts her face up. “You’re my best friend, you know that, right? I should’ve told you.”

For some reason she stiffens further. “Best friend. Right.”

For a second, he panics. Yes, Bellamy is in love with her, and would prefer to be something other than her best friend. But that’s what he gets, and he can handle it. He can’t handle anything less. Maybe it’s not the same for Clarke, maybe—

She softens again, sinking against his chest. “No worries, Bell. You’re my best friend too.”

It shouldn’t hurt, but it does.

****

She treats him abnormally carefully for the next couple days. 

Bellamy hates it. It’s so embarrassing, which is why he didn’t want to tell her in the first place. He feels like a child, like he’s missing out on some big secret. He can tell when she starts to talk about something having to do with sex because she immediately clams up. As if he doesn’t already know.

He can feel her spinning something though, some wheels turning in her head that he can’t quite figure out. 

It was too much to hope she would just forget about it.

“So,” Clarke says on Wednesday, plopping down in the seat next to him in the library. “I’ve been thinking about your problem.”

Bellamy glances around incredulously and groans, dropping his forehead down onto his book. Clarke pokes his arm. He swivels his head without lifting it, cracking one eye open to look at her. “What?”

She rolls her eyes. “Stop being a baby, I’m serious.” Bellamy lets out a breath through his nose and sits back, looking at her. Clarke pouts at his expression. “I want to help you.”

“Help me?” Bellamy asks doubtfully.

“Yeah.” Clarke shrugs. “With— you know.”

“Getting fucked?”

She flushes, turning uncharacteristically pink. His gaze follows the color down her throat, where it sneaks under the neckline of her shirt. “Well, I mean, I just thought— because it’s been a while since you were, um, out there, and I have lots of experience with— you know.”

Bellamy’s eyes darken. “Getting fucked.”

Clarke blinks back at him, lips slightly parted. “Yeah.”

Is she— offering?

How would that even— would she take him back to her room, like she did with everyone else? Or would she come into his instead? He imagines her, standing in his room, stepping out of her party shoes. He imagines pushing her up against his door, pushing her dress down so he can mouth at her neck. He imagines her naked in his bed, her hands tangled in his hair as he licks her sweet cunt until she’s screaming. He imagines crawling over her, sliding his cock between her thighs and pressing in, in, _in_ — until Clarke’s wet heat is all he can feel.

He imagines catching her eyes and seeing pity.

_“The sex was— well, you know.”_

Bellamy stiffens, drawing back. 

“I appreciate you falling on your sword for my benefit, Griffin,” he says meanly. “But you’re not exactly what I had in mind.”

Clarke reels back like she’s been slapped. “What?”

He’s being an asshole. He know he is. He just— the idea of Clarke fucking him not out of desire but out of some misplaced sense of responsibility: it reeks.

“You’re not my type,” Bellamy lies. Her mouth falls open, gaping at him. He feels something twist in his stomach as she stares, silent. “What?”

“I wasn’t—” she sputters. “Not with me, you oaf!”

Ah.

Whoops.

“Oh.”

She flicks him in the chest, glaring. He takes it gamely. “I was going to offer to wingman you.”

_Hmm_. That does make more sense. Bellamy’s ears heat, embarrassed that he leapt to such a ridiculous conclusion. Of course Clarke wasn’t offering. He’s an idiot.

“So you didn’t mean—”

“No!” she insists vehemently, and he winces.

“Right,” Bellamy says, his voice short. “Sorry.”

“You’re an asshole,” Clarke accuses, glaring at him. Her arms cross over her chest.

“Yes,” Bellamy agrees.

“And, for the record, if I had offered, you’d be an idiot to turn me down!” He can’t disagree. “I am excellent at sex. I have had four one-night-stands tell me they were in love with me so far _this year_.” 

Bellamy doesn’t doubt it. He wants to tell her that’s probably more due to the fact that she’s _her_ as opposed to any particular thing she does in bed but he refrains. How would he know? It could be both.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Dumbass,” Clarke mutters, standing up from the table. “Offer’s still open. If you want my help finding the right person.”

He doesn’t need it. He’s not going to find anyone else.

Still, Bellamy nods.

****

By the time Friday comes around, he’s decided to go through with it.

It’s stupid, and looms over him like a death sentence, but what else is he supposed to do? He can’t stay a virgin forever.

He really doesn’t want to stay a virgin forever.

Bellamy only drinks a little at the pregame, enough to take the edge off but not much more. He can feel his skin buzzing with anxiety as they head out to the party. Clarke is wearing some dress he’s only seen a few times, something tight and short that makes his mouth water. She scans the room as they arrive, hands on her hips. Bellamy can’t be bothered to look away.

Her lips pull together, and she tugs him towards her, standing on her tippy-toes to whisper into his ear.

“Brunette across the room. By the speaker system. She’s smart, and nice. I had her in my psych class.” He follows her directions, looking over at the girl. She’s tall and pretty, with long brown hair. Nothing like Clarke, but a lot like Gina. She meets his eyes and smiles.

He sighs. “Got it.”

Clarke blinks at him. “Oh,” she says. “That was easy.” 

Bellamy shrugs, pulling away from her. His stomach twists uncomfortably as he heads over to talk to the girl.

It’s easier than he expects to get her to go home with him. He puts the moves on her quickly, not wanting to stick around at the party and watch Clarke do her little song and dance with whoever she’s picked tonight for herself, but the brunette has no problem with it. In less than a half hour, they’re in his room, kicking off their shoes.

Bellamy closes his eyes and kisses her, maybe a little too hard. The girl squeaks, pressing her body eagerly up against his.

He can do this. He can. It will be fine.

He imagines blonde hair and blue eyes, pink lips and pale skin. He imagines the way Clarke’s cheeks turn pink when she’s embarrassed, the way she strokes her fingers over the back of his hand when she’s sitting next to him. 

His cock hardens. 

He imagines Clarke on her knees, blinking up at him with big eyes. He imagines that the hands on his belt are hers, unbuckling him, unbuttoning his pants. He imagines the hand on his cock is slightly smaller, slightly warmer, as it fists around him.

He helps the girl undress, pulling her dress over her head, unclipping her bra. It’s quick, and he doesn’t look down at her breasts, because he knows they won’t be right. Won’t be full enough, round enough, _Clarke_ enough.

Bellamy kicks off his pants as he pushes her towards the bed. Crawls over her body, lips locked with hers, eyes shut tight. Grinds his hips into hers.

He can do this.

HIs hands press into the mattress beside her hips, mouth trailing down her belly. This, at least he knows how to do. It’s perfunctory but effective, and in a matter of minutes he has her clamping down around his fingers, bucking against his mouth. When he slides back up her body, he reaches for a condom. She takes it from him, tearing open the foil, and Bellamy thinks about blonde hair on his pillow instead of brown. His cock twitches as the girl reaches for it.

He hears a door shut down the hall.

Now, instead of Clarke under _him_ in his head, she’s under somebody else. Some faceless man, pushing into her as she moans for him. Not Bellamy. Never Bellamy.

His erection flags.

Bellamy groans, flopping back away from the girl. “I’m sorry,” he says, throwing his hand over his eyes. “I— I can’t do this.”

She props herself up on one elbow, glancing down at his cock. Her expression is grim but unsurprised. “Too much to drink?”

Bellamy almost wants to laugh. If only it were that simple. “Yeah, I guess.”

She shrugs, sliding out of the bed. “Happens.” Bellamy watches with confusion as she picks up her clothes, pulling them on. “Another time?”

“Sure,” he says, not really meaning it.

She doesn’t look too disappointed anyways. “See you around, Bellamy.”

“Right,” he replies, startled by the use of his name. “Uh, you too.”

He flops back against his pillows as the door shuts, groaning. This was a disaster, he’s sure of it. He’s gonna die a virgin, and it’s all Clarke’s fault.

_Clarke._

Bellamy pushes himself up, sitting on the edge of his bed. He should—he shouldn’t.

He looks at the clothes on his floor, at a bobby pin the girl must’ve dropped, and sighs. He pulls on some pants and heads out to the common room to wait. The hall is quiet as he stalks out, dressed in just a pair of sweats. Still too early.

Clarke’s door appears in front of him and he gives it a long look. His ears strain, but he hears nothing. 

“What are you doing?”

Bellamy startles, spinning.

Clarke is sitting on the couch, wearing her clothes from the party. She looks— unrumpled. 

“I thought you’d be in your room.”

Her eyes narrow. “I thought you’d be in yours.”

“Yeah, well—” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, shrugging guiltily.

“How was it?”

Clarke’s voice is weird, sort of high, and tight. Bellamy’s eyebrows pull together. “What?” She looks at him like he’s an idiot, giving his state of undress a meaningful once over. “Oh. Right.”

“Right,” she repeats. “So?”

He fumbles over the words, unsure of how to describe the absolute cluster fuck that was his attempt at losing his virginity without implicating his fantasies about the girl in front of him. “It, uh— didn’t happen.”

She looks at him doubtfully. “I just saw her leave.”

“Yeah, well—” He shrugs. “Yeah.”

Her eyes soften. “What happened?”

Bellamy flushes. “I just—” he shrugs again. “I couldn’t do it. I don’t know her.”

Clarke’s whole body loosens, and she shifts over on the couch, gesturing at him to join her. He does, and she immediately sinks sideways into his lap. Bellamy suppresses a sigh, reaching out to stroke over her hair like he always does.

They’re both just this side of drunk, every feeling a little too amplified between them. Clarke’s eyes are open, staring at him, and Bellamy feels his throat tick. “You didn’t bring anyone back tonight.”

“No.”

“It’s, uh—” he swallows, looking down at her. “It’s been a while since you’ve done that.”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “It has.”

“Any particular reason?”

“I—” Clarke starts and then stops again, taking a deep breath. “I wanted to be here for you tonight. Like you are for me.”

Bellamy’s heart sinks, eyes moving to stare at the wall across from them. “Oh. Right, like— like I am for you.”

It’s not the same though. He stays because— because he can’t bear to not. Clarke is just trying to be a good friend. 

Her hand reaches up, cupping his jaw, and he looks back down at her.

And maybe it’s the alcohol, but— there’s something there. It’s a bad idea. He knows very well that it’s a bad idea, but— Bellamy can’t help himself.

His hands grow bolder, moving from his knee to her belly. The way she shudders against him—it’s a fucking dream. His fingers skate up her ribs, the back of his hand grazing her breast. “Bell?”

“Princess.”

She stares at him with wide eyes as his hand changes course, trailing down her belly, over her navel, finding the edge of her skirt. He waits a second, giving her a chance to stop him, but instead she parts her legs. His fingers slip between her thighs, finding the lace edge of her panties.

This is—new.

They’re pretty touchy-feeling, prone to cuddling, and sometimes it borders on something else, but it’s never gone this far. They’ve never let it go this far.

He’s fucking drunk on it.

Bellamy dips his fingers under the lace, petting the skin of her hip. “You know, I was just thinking.”

Clarke blinks at him, swallowing with some difficulty. “Oh?”

He’s never seen her so—undone. He’s watched her work, watched the way she seduces her chosen hookups with ease, but he’s never seen her like this.

She looks perfect.

She looks so fucking perfect.

“It seems neither of us got what we wanted tonight. You were too busy looking out for me to find anyone, and I—” He bites off his sentence, shrugging. “Well. I know you weren’t offering, but—”

Clarke looks at him breathlessly. “But?”

“Well, it seems we could kill two birds with one stone, if—” His heart beats hard in his chest, anxiety spiking even as he plays it off. “If you wanted.”

He leans down as she leans up, their faces coming closer and closer. Bellamy can feel her breath hot on his lips, close enough to taste. He could, if he wanted to. He could just close the gap, feel her mouth open for him, taste his name on her tongue.

Clarke pulls back.

“No.”

And Bellamy’s heart plummets. “No?”

She’s shaking her head, untangling herself from him. His hand gets caught on the edge of her skirt as he tries to extract it, rucking the fabric up. Clarke pulls it down as she puts space between them, her cheeks flushed.

“This is—” She shakes her head again, her voice unsteady. “We’re drunk. It’s a mistake. This isn’t— we’re not like this.”

“Oh,” Bellamy says. His chest feels hollow. “Right.”

“I just mean—” Clarke waves a hand, flustered. He watches her back away from him with a sense of dread. “We can try again next week. Try to— to find you someone. Someone who isn’t—” Her voice cracks, breaking off.

“You,” he finishes for her. “Someone who isn’t you.” His voice is flat, expression carefully blank. He can’t—Bellamy is so fucking stupid. He is so fucking stupid.

“Exactly,” Clarke says gratefully. He can read her panic, see it clearly on her face, in the way her shoulders are high by her ears. “Well, it’s late. I’m just gonna—” She jerks her head towards her door.

Bellamy nods. “Right. Goodnight.”

The door clicks shut behind her, and Bellamy slumps. He can hear blood rushing in his ears, his heart beating double time. He throws his hand over his eyes and groans.

That’s it. 

It’s fucking curtains for him. Not only is he still a virgin, but he’s just ruined his friendship with Clarke. 

He peeks down between his legs at the erection tenting the fabric of his sweats and glares. 

“Fuck.”

****

It’s almost painfully awkward. 

Clarke tries very hard to act like nothing happened, but Bellamy—can’t do that. He’s not—he knew it was stupid. He knew it wasn’t going to happen, couldn’t happen, not between them. But for a moment it had seemed like—

Anyways, he can’t act normal around her, no matter how hard she tries.

“Come out with us again,” she begs on Thursday, and he balks. 

“No way.”

She makes a face at him from across the coffee table. Apparently the “normal” she’s pretending they are no longer involves touching. Bellamy’s almost glad. He doesn’t think he could bear it.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Clarke wheedles. “You just have to— get back on the horse.”

Bellamy stands up abruptly.

“I’ve got to go.”

He stalks down the hall without looking back, his shoulders stiff. She doesn’t follow him.

He throws himself onto his bed with a groan. Maybe he should transfer. Would that be too dramatic? He’s not sure he can take three more years of Clarke’s baby blue eyes looking mournfully at him like he’s some kind of project.

She just—doesn’t get it. Which is fine. He doesn’t really want her to get it, because that would mean she knew about his feelings for her, feelings which she certainly doesn’t share. But he just can’t—

He can’t be around her without it hurting.

He feels so stupid, so pathetic. Clarke is out of his league, out of everyone’s league, if he’s honest. He was grateful she chose to be his friend even, but now—

Bellamy was fooling himself. 

How is he supposed to be friends with someone he’s in love with? 

He doesn’t begrudge Clarke her hookups, he’s not the kind of guy to place value judgements on someone for how much sex they are or aren’t having. But he can’t know about it without feeling empty. 

He just wants her to pick him. 

He should’ve just fucked that girl last week.

The knock startles him out of his wallowing.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” Clarke says, her voice soft through the wood of the door. “Can I come in?”

She’s never asked before, always just barreled in. Bellamy lets out a deep breath between his teeth and nods. “Sure.”

He sits up, turning so his back is against the wall, feet dangling over the side of his bed. Clarke slips inside, closing the door quietly behind her. She clicks the lock shut and his throat goes dry.

“Don’t—” She turns to look at him, eyes questioning, and he shakes his head. “Never mind.” 

She sits in his desk chair instead of joining him on the bed. Another thing that makes him both grateful and deeply deeply unhappy. The distance feels cold.

“We should talk,” Clarke says, her voice uncomfortably even.

Bellamy nods, looking at the wall across from him. “Yeah.”

“So, about what happened on Friday.” He doesn’t flinch, but it’s very close. Bellamy waits for her to continue, but she doesn’t.

He looks over in confusion.

Clarke looks—wretched. She looks how he feels, despite her steady voice and forced cheer. His heart aches in his chest, worrying superseding the disappointment. 

“Hey,” he says quietly. “Look at me.”

She does, and her eyes are torn. “I’m sorry, it’s just—”

“It’s a mess.” She bites her lip and he feels a surge of fondness. “Come up here.”

Bellamy nods in encouragement as she hesitates, shuffling over to make room. Clarke climbs up on the bed next to him, sitting shoulder to shoulder. Only a few inches remain between them, and he feels the knot in his stomach loosen for the first time in days.

God, he fucking loves her.

What a disaster.

“I’m sorry about Friday,” she starts, and Bellamy’s heart sinks. “I shouldn’t— I shouldn’t have pushed you. I shouldn’t still be pushing you. I didn’t mean to force you to do something you didn’t want to. It’s— it’s your first time. I can get why you want it to be special.”

“That’s—” _Really not the problem._ “I wanted to. _Want_ to. I don’t need special.” He shrugs. “I should apologize too. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

She looks at him sharply. “What?”

Oh, god. She’s gonna make him say it. Bellamy really, _really_ doesn’t want to have to say it. “When I— touched you.”

“Oh.” Her eyes turn away, finding her hands where they sit curled in her lap. “That’s okay. You were drunk.”

He was— _what?!_

Bellamy’s stomach turns violently, his blood boiling. Is that— is that why she let him touch her? Because she thought he was drunk? Was she— was she too scared to pull away? The thought of her being groped by someone else, and excusing it because they’re drunk: it makes him sick. And the thought of it being him—

“It’s not okay. Being drunk doesn’t mean I can just go around touching people who don’t want me to,” he grits out. “You don’t have to excuse me.”

“What?”

“And besides,” he finishes quietly, ignoring her question. “I wasn’t drunk. You were, and I should’ve respected that.”

“What?” Clarke sounds taken aback. “No, I wasn’t.”

“What?” He wrinkles his nose in confusion. “You said you were drunk.”

“Yeah, because I thought you were! If you weren’t drunk then why did you—why did you try—?”

He flushes pink, scrubbing a hand guiltily over the back on his neck. “It doesn’t matter, I shouldn’t have touched you when you didn’t want—”

“I didn’t say _I_ didn’t want it.” Bellamy freezes, turning to look at her. “I didn’t think you did.”

He blinks at her wildly. “Was my hand between your thighs too subtle? Why would you think I didn’t want it?”

“Oh, don’t be an asshole. You know perfectly well what I mean.”

“You’re the one who said it was a mistake!”

“ _You said I wasn’t your type!_ ”

They sit there, chests heaving, staring at each other with wild eyes. Eventually a laugh bubbles up through Bellamy’s throat, spilling out of his mouth. Clarke glares at him, arms crossed over her chest.

“Princess,” he says breathlessly, his eyes soft. “You are exactly my type. That’s the problem.”

Her posture loosens, shoulders sinking. “Oh.”

“Oh,” he echoes. Bellamy takes her hand, lacing their fingers together.

The room is quiet around them as they lean back against the wall, hands clasped between them. “So— you like me?”

He laughs again. What a fucking understatement. “Yeah, Clarke. I like you.”

She hums, squeezing his fingers. Her eyes drop to his lips and his heartbeat stutters. Bellamy leans closer. Clarke follows.

When their lips touch it’s so soft he’s almost sure he’s imagining it. But then her mouth opens and he dips closer, hands coming up to cup her jaw, tilt her chin towards him. Clarke lets out a quiet whine against his lips, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, _closer_.

Clarke pulls back first, gasping. She doesn’t release him, forehead touching his as she catches her breath. 

“Come out with me tomorrow,” she says.

Bellamy pulls away, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

Clarke’s eyes sparkle mischievously. Her thumb strokes over his pulse point. “Come on,” she teases. “Don’t you trust me?”

His eyes narrow. “When you smile at me like that, not particularly.”

She leans in, kissing him again soundly. “C’mon. I promised I’d help you, remember?”

Bellamy’s dick twitches in his jeans. “Oh,” he says, throat dry. “Okay, then.”

****

She’s seducing him.

Bellamy is fully aware that she’s seducing him, but it’s still absurd how well it’s working. Clarke is doing to him what he used to watch her do to countless unsuspecting victims at the beginning of the year, and it’s _working_. Hopefully she doesn’t intend for it to end the same, but Bellamy is getting played, no way around it.

They’re at the party, and she’s leaning into him, looking up at him with her big blue eyes framed in eyeliner, eyelashes fluttering. She laughs at what he says, putting her hand on his arm, squeezing his muscles.

He goes along with it gamely, letting her tug him into a corner where _‘it’s quieter_ ’.Clarke turns him so his back is to the wall. Their bodies press together along their lengths, chest to chest, and she reaches up to tug at his curls, grinning.

Bellamy settles his hands on her hips. His mouth dips down, brushing against her ear. “You’re terrifying, you know that.”

Clarke tilts her head, brushing her nose along her throat. “You like it.”

He chuckles. “So long as it’s me?” His hands stroke up her side and back down again. “Yeah, I kinda do.”

She grins, her mouth finding his in a long, deep kiss. This one isn’t like the night before, nothing gentle or sweet. It’s slow, but it’s filthy.

Bellamy feels himself grow hard against her. Clarke’s hand slides down his abs, palming him through his jeans. Bellamy groans low in his chest. “Really, princess? Here?”

Clarke laughs against his mouth. “No, not yet. Just checking.”

She kisses him again, pushing forwards so his back thuds against the wall. Bellamy wraps his arms around her, music thumping in his ears. Clarke comes up on her toes, and he holds her hair in one hand as she licks a line down his neck.

Bellamy shudders, his eyes opening.

He makes eye contact immediately with Murphy. The other boy gives him a shit eating grin and winks, sinking into the crowd. Bellamy groans.

“What?” Clarke asks, pulling back. Her lips are red and shiny, and he leans down to taste them, kissing her hard before pulling back. 

“Wanna head out?”

Clarke grins, her fingers lacing through his. “That’s my line.”

She pulls him through the crowd and out of the basement, pausing in the stairwell to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him until he can’t see straight. Bellamy shakes his head, a stupid smile on his face as they wind through campus back to their hall.

It’s blissfully empty, everyone else still at the party. Bellamy’s pretty sure they didn’t even make it an hour. He spins her up against the wall as they enter the hallway, kissing her hard. Her lips chase his as he pulls back to look at her.

“Are you sure?” Clarke asks, hand clasped in his. “I know you said you didn’t want special—”

He kisses her again. “We can have special whenever.”

Clarke smiles, looking mussed and disheveled where she leans against the wall. He looks her over in satisfaction. 

“What?”

He smirks, pushing her hair back from her cheek. “Nothing, it’s just— I did that.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, pushing off the wall and pulling him behind her. He thinks for a moment she’s going to take him into her room, just like everyone else, and his stomach lurches, but she keeps going. 

She stands in front of his door and waits while he fumbles for his key.

“Nervous?”

He smirks back at her. “Yes.”

Clarke gives him a look that has him almost worried for what she has planned. 

“Clarke,” Bellamy warns, opening the door. He scrubs a hand through his hair, ruffling it. “I might— I don’t know what your expectations are, but—” Bellamy tries to come up with a polite way to say he doesn’t trust himself not to come the second he slides inside her. 

“Don’t worry,” she says with a frankly concerning wink. “I’ve got a strategy.”

The strategy, it seems, is sucking his soul out through his cock before he even gets a chance to see her naked. 

She’s got him backed up to his bed, sitting on the edge, and she settles between his knees, undoing his pants just like he’d fantasized about. His hands fist in her hair, head tilting back as she dips forward, licking a stripe down the length of his cock.

“Fuck, Clarke.”

She smiles, her teeth glinting in the dimmed light of his room, and takes him into her mouth. For all the jokes they’ve made about her being a professional, it wasn’t enough, the way she swallows him down, nose bumping up against his pelvis—

Bellamy’s hips jerk, thrusting his cock into her throat. She gags around him, sliding back, but doesn’t pull off. Her tongue swirls around the head of his cock, licking precum from his slit. Her finger grip the base of him, and she pumps her hand slowly in time with the movements of her mouth.

“Princess, I—” He’s going to come. It’s humiliating, but he’s already going to fucking come. Clarke doesn’t seem to have any problem with this, in fact, it seems to be her design. She pumps her hand faster, sliding his cock further and further down her throat.

“Fuck,” Bellamy swears, eyes rolling back as she sucks. “Fuck!”

He spills down her throat.

Clarke pulls back with a pop, looking up at him with satisfied eyes. She wipes a drop of cum off her mouth with the back of her hand, lips wet and swollen. 

Bellamy growls. She laughs as he hauls her to her feet, spinning her and pushing her onto his bed. His lips are everywhere, tasting her skin, hands desperately pulling at her clothes. She helps him undress her, helps him pull his own shirt over his head, push his jeans down off his hips until they’re naked against each other. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers to her, looking down at her in awe. Clarke laughs, tugging him down to the mattress and climbing over him so she’s straddling his hips. Her hands slide down his chest, tracing over his abs.

“You are too,” she says.

His cock twitches where it lies spent between his legs and he groans. He cups her tits, lifting them slightly to feel their weight in his hands. His thumb circles her nipple, teasing it into a stiff peak. 

Clarke sighs. Her hips grind down against his abdomen, painting his skin with her arousal. She’s so wet, _so wet_. His hands find her hips, helping her grind down harder against him. He licks his fingers, slipping them between her legs to rub her clit.

Clarke’s back straightens, her arms shooting out to support herself as he works her cunt. Bellamy is desperate to make her come. He needs her to come, needs to prove he’s not entirely useless. 

She tilts her hips into his hand, muscles tensing. Bellamy works her faster, feeling the wet slide of her cunt lips across his stomach. She looks so pretty like this, above him, seeking her pleasure.

“C’mon,” he urges, watching as her face tightens, mouth falling open. “That’s it.” He strums against her sensitive nub, making her gasp and writhe. And finally, _finally_ , she breaks.

Bellamy’s cock comes back to life, watching her body shake with orgasm.

“Fuck,” Clarke pants. She slumps forwards against his chest. “You’re good at that.”

Bellamy laughs, pushing her hair back from her face. She smiles up at him, her breathing still fast, heart beating hard through both their chests. He leans down and kisses her, surprisingly tentative given what they just been up to, but it’s _Clarke_. He still can’t believe this is even happening.

She scoots up his body, laying atop him as they kiss. It’s soft and slow and lazy. The room is hot and quiet. Clarke’s legs tangle with his, her body a comforting weight.

Eventually they both recover, and the kisses get harder, faster, hungrier. Bellamy’s cock swells between his legs, and he grinds it into her leg where it lays between his thighs. Clarke glances down, her lips curling. “Ready?”

Bellamy huffs out a laugh. His hands slaps out towards his desk, grabbing a condom off the top where he’d not so casually laid it earlier. She shifts away from his hips, kissing his neck while he tears open the foil.

And Bellamy—has no idea what the fuck he’s doing.

Clarke watches him fumble with the condom fondly for a moment before taking pity, her hands covering his. “Let me.”

She makes it so sexy he almost wants to laugh, sensuously rolling the rubber down his shaft. Her eyes darken, and she licks her lips; and then he does laugh.

“See something you like?”

Clarke shrugs, clambering back over his hips. He settles his hands on her hipbones. “It’s nice.”

Bellamy isn’t sure whether to feel emasculated. “Nice?”

She smacks a kiss onto his lips, sliding her wet cunt over his covered length until he groans. “Big.”

Clarke tugs his hair as he smiles and rises up on her knees, positioning his _big_ cock at her entrance. Her eyes look at him in askance and he nods, holding himself still. 

And then it’s done.

Bellamy watches breathlessly as she throws her head back, sinking down his length with a hiss. It feels— there aren’t words.

She’s so hot, so tight, so wet. Her cunt squeezes him like a vise, sucking him in. It’s everything he’d hoped for, everything he’d dreamed of, it’s— it’s going to be over if he moves. Even with the edge taken off from the blowjob, it’s almost too much.

Bellamy pants, eyes clenched. His hands cup her ribs, thumbs brushing over her breasts. Clarke is—Clarke is everything.

God, he’s so fucking jealous of all the people who had her first. Those lucky goddamn bastards.

When he opens his eyes, finally feeling like he’s not going to come any second, he realizes Clarke is still as well. Her chest heaves up and down, a little pinch between her eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

She opens her eyes, smiling tightly. “Nothing, it’s—” she shifts and gasps, sinking farther onto his cock. Bellamy’s hips jump. “ _Oh_. It’s a lot.”

“Are you— are you okay? Does it hurt?” He strokes her face and she smiles, huffing out a laugh. 

“I’m not the one losing my virginity here.”

She’s so tight. So fucking tight. If he didn’t know otherwise—

Bellamy snorts, leaning into her neck. “You’re a brat.” He shifts his hips, shuddering as his cock drags slightly out of her. “Fuck.”

Clarke whines in agreement, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Are you— can I move?”

His hips pump up into her awkwardly. “Please.”

It’s— well, if he’s completely honest, it’s a little weird at first. Clarke clearly knows what she’s doing, and what she’s doing is fucking euphoric, but it takes him a second to get the rhythm of it. Not that he has to do a lot, what with Clarke riding him like a fucking jockey.

Her tits bob up and down beautifully as she rocks her hips against him, her cunt sliding up and down the length of his cock. Every so often she clenches around him, and he feels like he’s gonna fucking lose it, but he holds himself together, watching Clarke fuck herself on his cock. 

He slides his fingers between them, working her clit the way he did before, and she clenches ever harder, making him shudder. 

As much as he likes watching her, she’s too far away. He wants to feel the hot press of her skin, craves it; and he sits up abruptly, wrapping his arms around her back. 

Clarke gasps, the shift bringing him even deeper inside her. He can feel the very end of her cunt, the head of his cock pressed right up against her cervix. 

“Is this—” he gasps, “—is it okay?”

Clarke nods frantically. Bellamy growls, lifting her by the ass and slamming her back down hard. _Oh_ —

It’s so good. It’s so fucking good.

She’s so fucking good.

He can feel the end in sight and he grinds down against her clit, praying to any and all gods he can make her come again. Bellamy can only imagine what it would feel like to have her cunt shatter around his cock.

He doesn’t have to imagine for long.

Clarke tenses against him, her hands gripping at his hair, pulling at the curls. Bellamy opens his eyes to watch the expression on her face, the rapturous bliss he can feel building in his own stomach.

She finishes with a moan. With her tight cunt wringing him dry, Bellamy comes so hard he sees stars, spilling into the condom. “Fuck, _Clarke_.”

Her head rests on his shoulder, her body boneless in his arms. He cannot help but agree, and he tips back with a huff. She lands on his chest, laughing as he pulls out of her cunt and disposes of the condom. His cock feels like it’s run a goddamn marathon.

“Feel any different?” Clarke asks softly, trailing her fingers down his chest.

“A little.” Bellamy snorts, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pressing a kiss into her hair. Not that losing his virginity is a big deal, but—he feels like he has a stamp across his forehead that screams ‘ _I got fucked by Clarke Griffin!_ ’, and frankly? He doesn’t hate it.

“Good?”

Was it good? A wild understatement, he’d say.

“You have no fucking idea.” Bellamy blushes, thinking about his own clumsy actions. “Was I—?”

She hums into his skin. “Not bad.” Bellamy’s stomach drops, but she just looks up at him with playful eyes. “I think you might need some more practice.”

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow, grinning at her softly. “Are you volunteering?”

Clarke sighs and snuggles into him closer. “I suppose I could make that sacrifice.” She closes her eyes. “But just for you.”

Bellamy’s chest warms, heart beating out a satisfied rhythm. He leans back, tugging the blankets up over them both. “What a martyr.”

Clarke laughs sleepily. “Glad you agree.”

****

When they wake up, it’s to Fleetwood Mac blasting through a speaker pressed up against Bellamy’s door.

“What the fuck,” he mumbles, blinking wearily into Clarke’s neck. She groans, turning to bury her face in his chest.

“This one’s for you, Blake!” Murphy calls from the hallway. A chorus of laughter tells Bellamy he’s not alone out there.

“ _Thunder only happens when it’s raining_ ,” Stevie Nicks croons through the speakers, the sound barely muffled through the wood of the door. “ _Players only love you when they’re playing_.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Bellamy mutters. 

Clarke hums against his chest. “I’ll help.” She shifts in his arms, nuzzling into his skin with her eyes shut tight against the morning light. “Later?”

Bellamy huffs out a laugh. He presses a kiss into her hair, settling back onto the pillows. “Later.”

Together, they fall back asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> only 30 minutes late!!! close enough
> 
> written with love for The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative, find out how to get your own here: [t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co)
> 
> brain can't make any more words rn but I hope you liked it
> 
> leave me a kudo or comment or I will slowly die like tinkerbell


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